Entropy.  You can’t escape.

A few Christmases ago, long before we became foster parents, Daddyman decided that what I wanted that year was an entertainment cabinet.  I’d show you a picture, but the computer that he decided I wanted last year has no place to put a little memory card from the camera.  The computer he decided he wanted had one, but it bit the dust.  You’ll just have to make do with a description.  The cabinet in question was handmade by Daddyman.  It is 9 feet long and I have no earthly idea how tall.  Made from plans he found in perhaps American Woodworker magazine, it has a center unit that looks like an armoire to house all entertaining things that possess a plug.  It’s flanked by two identical display units with glass doors for all things collectible.  He chose to use red oak to match the other furniture the kids made when they were in his class.  It is a beautiful thing.  Daddyman has true and real talent where furniture making is concerned.

Also, I will not allow shoddy work to pass my inspection.  I was the lucky recipient of a calibrated eyeball.  Among my gifts/curses is the ability to see when something is out of square by as little as a 16th of an inch.  Living in an old house where ev-er-y-thing is out of square is a little crazy-making for fools such as I.  He says I’m picky.  I prefer to say I have an eye for detail.

The cabinet weighs about a metric ton what with all of that wood and glass and shelves.  Add the stuff inside and boy, howdy!  All of the pieces were built separately and stored in our garage prior to the big unveiling.   I had no idea it was out there–no, I am not unobservant (mostly).  We have an agreement.  Along about December 12, I will not go to or through the garage without advance notice or at all.  It’s handy, actually.  Without access to the garage, I can’t go to the pantry.  That means I can play queen for a day and order people to go gather my pantry wish list.  At any rate, it was built in 3 separate pieces because whose house is actually big enough to just traipse through from the garage to the solarium with a 9 foot cabinet anyway?  To keep it from shifting in our afore-mentioned non-square house, Daddyman bolted the pieces together.

When the new year arrived, I was again determined to organize the house.  I started in the solarium by cleaning out the entertainment cabinet.  The thing has doors on the bottom where the kids stash stuff.  Upon opening one of those doors, I was assaulted by the smell of pee.  Boy pee.  There was no evidence of pee in the cabinet.  I suppose I looked like some kind of deranged bloodhound, sniffing here and there along the cabinet.  My nose lead me to the doorway to my office.  The office is slightly smaller than a postage stamp, so it doesn’t really need a door, just a couple of cheap panels to cover the opening that’s at the end of the cabinet.  The bottom of the panels were stiff with dried tinkle.

Lovely.

After coming back from putting those into the washer, I could still smell it.  You know how sometimes a particularly strong odor just stays in your nose and you think you still smell it after it’s been disposed of?  Yeah.  No such luck.  The smell was very strong in that little corner.  I got a bucket filled with some heavily pine-dosed water and started scrubbing the floor.  Two swipes and I got another bucket.  Still the smell wafting out of the corner slapped me in the olfactory nerve.  It was time to call Daddyman in to unbolt and move the cabinets.

We found the source–about a 1/4-inch deep dried covering of pee underneath the entertainment center.  It had wicked up the back causing the smell to come through the cabinet.  The wall behind the cabinet was covered.  The dust bunnies back there had drowned.  I was NOT cleaning that up by myself.  I made ANOTHER bucket of water, found another rag and called Bubba.

Faced with the evidence of his interesting choices, he did the only obvious thing.  He lied.  Just a little bit.  Eventually he told me something that might resemble the truth:  he peed back there because he did not like to leave to go to the bathroom.  While he didn’t enjoy the scrubbing, he did it without too much whining.  When told he’d be on line of sight supervision, he shrugged his shoulders.  Upon learning that he would not be allowed to be alone anywhere in the house, he said it did not matter.

Until the next day when reality set in.  Cue the 2 hour temper tantrum.

It took 2 weeks, but Bubba has successfully earned back his private time with the TV.

Urine Watch 2012 is now at Level 2–watchful but no immediate danger.

Also, it smells much, much better around here.

I did not change out of my blue jeans before taking up residence on the sofa.

Our sofa is totally wonderful–deep, cushy, lots of pillows and plenty wide enough to accommodate my middle-aged spread.  It’s also very, very long–long enough for a 6′ 3″ Sonny to fully stretch himself out to take a snooze and still have room.  Logically, it should be plenty long enough for 5′ 4.5-ish” me and a 3′ 6″ girl.

Apparently sofas shrink during the night.

Once asleep I began dreaming.  I was doing a huge amount of work.  Somehow I’d become a rice farmer.  I was standing ankle-deep in water, staring intently into the ground below.  I was tired, it wasn’t working, and my ankle hurt.  It hurt a whole lot.  So did my left arm.  Also my hipbone on that side.  I opened my eyes but not fast enough to catch the sofa before it returned to full size.  Flowergirl’s pajamas were on top of my chest.  She was snuggled down between my side and the back cushions, using me as a quilt.  Unwedging myself, I sat up and nearly fell off the sofa as I discovered that the cause of the pain in my ankle was me.  I’d crossed the left leg over the right.  My foot that is mostly numb was asleep.

Who would have predicted that could happen?

Somewhere in the night, my inseam had fused itself to my inner thigh.  My belt was no longer my friend.  I wrestled that off and threw it in the general direction of the coffee table.  I also became acutely aware that I had to pee, so I gracefully continued my festive descent to the floor and hobbled to the bathroom.  I am forever grateful that I made it.  The removal of the inseam from my flesh in a wicked hurry?  I could have passed on that.

Because I love a challenge, I returned to the sofa, except this time I took the other end.  Looking at the clock, I saw that it was 3:30 a.m., time for the cat to take his evening constitutional up my leg to my chest and back again about 134 times while I try to either convince him to stop or knock him off without losing blood.  I am usually unsuccessful at both.  Last night, on the second lap, Flowergirl woke up and Trip took pity on me.  All 3 of us had a lovely chat until 4:00 when Flowergirl unexpected fell asleep mid-sentence.  The cat graciously decided to go do catly things elsewhere.

When I woke up again at 7:40, his tail was in my nose.  Flowergirl was still pajama-free.  I was freezing.

Tonight, I believe I’ll be camping out again, except this time I plan to do it my pajamas, in bed, under many warm covers, snuggled up to the love of my life.   Flowergirl can rough it in her own bed.

I think I’ll put the cat outside.

The very next day after my last post, Bubba of Yore reappeared.  Well, Bubba of not long yore ago, but still.  Progress + Holidays = Regression.

That is an unbalanced equation.  If someone knows how to make it work, please tell me.

In no particular order, I present the stupid things that have been attempted, tried, or accomplished by someBubba:

1.  Losing his winter coat.  Again.  Also again.  A couple of days ago I found a school sweatshirt at the thrift store.  It was Bubba-sized, he liked it, I bought it.  He put it on and his coat magically disappeared.  After 2 days, Bubba was informed that the missing coat needed to poof back home pretty quickly or he would not be in possession of his sweatshirt for even 1 more hour.  Lo and behold, the coat came home!  Then it escaped.  I requested the sweatshirt.  Let me rephrase that:  I told the boy to hand it over.  He was wearing it at the time.  I peeled him out of it, rolled it up and put it on top of the china hutch.  Yesterday the coat was worn to school.  Today, oh, noes!  Apparently thieves had broken in and gone straight for the size 8 red winter coat!  It was NOT in the backpack–Bubba had opened all of the zippers.  He would HAVE to wear the sweatshirt.  And then a miracle occurred:  the magic red coat popped itself right back into the bookbag behind the binder!  I’d say we got a really good deal.  We only paid $37 for that magic coat.  The sweatshirt could only look down in envy from it’s perch on the hutch.

2.  The subterfuge of the Nintendo DS that belongs to Jay.  In a fit of brotherly love, Jay loaned Bubba his DS.  The history of the DS is important.  Jay bought it for himself several Christmases ago with money given to him by his Grandmother Esther who has now gone home to heaven.  Jay is 16.  Esther died when he was 12.  Jay and Bubba have been doing the Wally/Beaver thing for the last couple of weeks, so it seemed like a good idea.  Daddyman and I did the Ward/June thing with Bubba–the DS could not leave the house, would not go to school, would be returned when Jay figured out he’d made a mistake decided that it had been visiting long enough.  We got the right answers from our dear little boy who promptly forgot everything.  He’d have actually pulled this one off except for dropping the little stylus out of his bag while on the afternoon bus.  The stylus was helpfully picked up and returned by another student on Daddyman’s bus who even told him who the owner was.  Sad to say, the DS is now grounded for unauthorized travel.  That’ll teach it.

3.  Forgetting.  Maybe this is the fault of the coat thieves.  That makes as much sense as anything I’ve heard so far.  More, actually.  Suddenly Bubba has been robbed of his ability to read simple words.  He can no longer spell his name correctly.  He does not remember–if we ever told him–how to use a fork or a hair brush or that thing you put in your mouth to do something to your teeth.  Yep, he’s even forgotten the names of things.  Sad.  Around here, if you can’t remember what it’s called, you can’t use it.  He’s also forgotten rules like run outside only or stay in your bed at night or don’t act like a complete butt so that you don’t have to write a letter of apology which he could not finish because he could not remember how to use the pencil to copy the words.  It took 9 pages to write 5 sentences.  Mostly because it looked like something a gorilla might have written.  Passive-agressive aplogy notes just don’t convey the right message, you know?

4.  What to do while in the bathroom.  This partly belongs under #3 and partly needs it’s own category.  Last night, while innocently walking through the house, Daddyman spied Bubba in the bathroom.  Fine, it was shower-time.  The shower wasn’t running, the boy wasn’t unclothed……well, not fully, anyway.  I heard, “It’s okay–she allows me to do it!”  followed these words from my beloved:  “Well, then, let’s just ask her and see what she says!”  Turns out someBubba was standing on the floor in front of the tub, fully clothed except for the obvious, and peeing into the bathtub.  At some point I may have okayed the peeing while IN the shower, but I sure don’t recall having endorsed replacing the toilet. 

To sum up the reactions of the parental units during all of this, allow me to set the scene.  Bubba is upstairs,  thrashing, wailing, forgetting, screaming, begging, crying about needing to write 5 sentences before he can come down.  Daddyman is standing at the bottom of the stairs.  At first he tried to reason with the boy.  Then he looked at me.  I was sitting at the computer trying not to let Bubba’s choices affect my mood. (HA) After his final, “Son, you need to write the paragraph.  You can come down as soon as it is done in an acceptable fashion,” he received a screaming, whining, begging, wailing answer. 

“Don’t answer, ” I advised.

And he didn’t.  At least not loud enough for anyone but me to hear, “That’s right, Bubba.  Scream on.  Bait me.  Go ahead and bait me some more so I’ll engage you and we can just keep right on with this.  I know I enjoy it.”

I love my husband.

“What happened to your hiccups?”

“They left.”

“What did you do to make them go?”

“Nothing.  They just needed time off.”

My child the comedian.

Seriously, living with her is the equivalent of having joy injected directly into my soul.

Today the kids returned to school.  Well, the littles.  Jay stayed home with Buddy while I went to  my classroom to tie up some loose ends.  When I came home I made this deliciousness for dinner.  While I was cooking, Bubba came flying into the kitchen.

Leaning against me, “I LOVE you, mom!”

Not believing my ears, “I’m sorry, what did you say?

Again, only louder, “I LOVE YOU MOM!!!”

Some days, Bubba adds a whole other layer to my joy IV.

When dinner was almost finished, Jay snuck up on me, leaned down because he now towers over me, wrapped me in a hug and said, “You know what?  I love you.”

I leaned back into my former baby boy, “I love you, too, son.  You’re a good kid.”

He’s pretty much the giant version of Flowergirl in a more manly package. When times were hard, he was why I got out of bed every morning.

Daddyman pulled me aside and gave me a little kiss.  Then he found the red pepper in that black hole I call the spice cupboard.  He also opened all of my containers tonight because the hands are shot for the day.  I’d tell you what we talked about, but this is a family blog!

Joy poured out, packed down and overflowing.

I am blessed.

After being with me for about an hour, Bubba began talking about his dreams.  Nightmares, actually.  I learned that nearly all of his nightmares involve dinosaurs.  This really isn’t surprising.  The kid eats, sleeps, and plays dinosaurs.  His worst one so far?  He dreamed that he and Barbie went to a place where they could see real dinosaurs.  There were velociraptors running all around.  Then they broke the glass and he and Barbie had to run.  Somehow they became separated.  Bubba found a car and got into it, but the raptors bit through the glass.  Just when he thought he was going to be eaten, he was able to open the door and run.  He ran down a hill.  At the bottom of the hill was a bench.  His Pawpaw was sitting on the ground and Barbie was on the bench.  Bubba ran toward them with the raptor on his heels.  They saw him, but they didn’t get up from their seats.  Then a big raptor jumped out in front of him and opened its mouth in Bubba’s face.  Barbie calmly watched but didn’t move.  Just as the raptor tried to bite off his face, Bubba woke up.

Although he would never admit it, I suspect he was running from the raptors when he came to get in bed with me.

I think he’s starting to see something that he doesn’t want to know. Then he won’t be able unknow it.

I’m so sorry, son.

The rest of the service:

O, Holy Night interrupted by BOOM and a head connected rather forcefully with a pew.  Whispered condolences from me and eye-rolling you could actually hear from Jay.

O Come All Ye (ssshhhhhhh) Faith-whunk-ful as the same head, opposite side, again connected with a pew.  Whispered shouts from me followed by snorts of merriment from Jay. The audible eye-rolling originated from Daddyman on the other side of me.  There was also a loud tsk from Flowergirl.

The reading of the Christmas (howlongisthisgoingtotake? x 3) Story.

The passing of the light from candle to candle.  The demand for the return (and subsequent denial) of the broken candle.  The waving of the flame and slinging of liquid wax.  The singing of Silent Night and decorative wax art on the pew in front of us.

The drive home in the rain accompanied by traditional whining to go walking in the rain to see the Christmas lights.

Bed!  Blessed bed to await the jolly old elf who surprisingly came anyway.

The biggest issue after that–the insistence upon seeing Barbie despite being told multiple times that the court has ordered against it.  Oh, even better–the assurance from Bubba that even though he is a member of our family, he will also always be a member of the other family as well.  Intellectually I understand this.  It’s just a fact.  But when he says it, just the way he says it, causes my spine to stiffen, my insides to twist, and my anger to surge.  He knows where I live and he knows what hurts the worst.  He usually likes to save this last twist up until he’s just about to fall asleep for the night.  Then I work to reduce my inner pressure and stop fuming in order to get to sleep.

Be proud of me.  I held my ground about not visiting Barbie or Kent or anyone.  They are all under the order.  When Bubba began attempting to bargain for a trip as a teen to see her, I didn’t bite that enticing bait.  I did, however, tell him that the last time I knew where she was, it was in a completely different state, way over to the east and I had no plans of driving for 36 hours to try to find her any time soon.  Then I kissed my little boy goodnight and trudged downstairs to wrap presents for him and the other kids.

And just for grins, the inevitable Christmas card from Barbie arrived.  After staring at it for 14 minutes trying to decide what to do with it, Daddyman took it and put it in the box o’stuff that the kids will need some day.  Less than 12 hours later I opened the card.  It said the same old stuff, this time requesting to send gifts.  No.  Those will be returned.

I think.  Maybe not.  Maybe they’ll go into the box.  Maybe I’ll send them back.

You may call me Mrs. Waffle.

I’m really having a hard time with this.

I wonder when I’m going to put on my big girl pants and get on with it?

If I lived out in the country, I’d have expected this.  Living practically downtown, such as it is, I didn’t.  Our home is a block and a half off of the town square and we do have leash laws.  We also have laws about shooting other people’s dogs, but I’d have happily done that if I’d caught it.

Daddyman buried Emily, Henrietta and Junior.  I asked for a deluxe model chicken coop and 4 new Buffs for Christmas.

Also a BB gun.

You are a very good cyber-stalker!

The chocolate is gone–shared with my little kids.  The books are PERFECT.  I LOVE ME SOME CHRYSANTHEMUM!!! However, I am not allowed to keep the portrait.  Some little princess I know has commandeered that and the wand.  I don’t know how to work mine, either!  Wearing the scarf right now, sitting in my dining room.  I may never take it off………even though it does get really balmy here in Big State.  The colors!  Oh, the colors!  And, believe it or not, I have a companion piece to the placque.  Oh, yes, indeed I do–it will be beautiful on my newly painted kitchen walls.

All of that to say THANK YOU!  You made my day!

And you are sooooo not of a similar age!  I’m old enough to be your………older sister!

I actually need to remind myself of that occasionally.

Since August we’ve been spending upwards of 10 hours a day at school–football does not practice itself.  There are also a million things to write on the lesson plans, stuff to prep in advance, the drama that comes with working with a bunch of women, the drama of middle schoolers, and the drama of trauma mamahood, and the keeping of a long and happy marriage.  Sometimes even Batman-who I still am not-would get tired.

I really am tired.  I’m also sick.  Bronchitis again.  I couldn’t walk 10 steps without being breathless.  Then there was the Fan Bus Ride of Death to the State Semi-Final game on Friday.  Our boys played well and honorably but sadly came up short.  Everyone there was honored to be able to watch our boys becoming men as they wiped their eyes and went through the ritual of the congratulating the other team.  Then we all cried some more.  Some of us cried even more when we had to board the Death Bus for the return trip.  Three hours one way with my knees stuck 6 inches deep into the seat in front me because although I am still not Batman, I am apparently a giant.  My 5′ 4.5″ self is too long for the seat.  Daddyman, at 6′, had the aisle.  He only had to sit on the arm rest.

Yesterday Missy and Princess drug me to the doctor.  There was, of course, kicking and screaming on my part.  Then there were 3 shots–2 different kinds of steroids and Rocephin–a prescription for Augmentin, Xopenex for my nebulizer machine, and some hydrocodone cough syrup.  The shots happened in the office.  The other medicine came from the Stuff Mart.  Apparently all of Big State is sick because it took roughly 2.5 eons to get the scripts filled.  Have I ever mentioned exactly how much I love going to Stuff Mart?  Yeah, because I don’t.  But I did get Christmas shopping for Bubba and Flowergirl finished and spend time with my big girls who are pretty awesome company.  Jay’s Christmas gifts?  Nope.

If I had been Batman, I would have been able to remember what he wanted.  Lack of oxygen to the gray matter tends to make me forget stuff.

I feel much better now.  Sleeping off the hydro-you-know helps, however, taking it before you go to church to sing the Cantata only aids in missing entrances.  Especially when you can’t honestly tell if you’re blinking your eyes or not.

Tomorrow it’s back to school.  There will be no practice, but there will be another trip to the doctor–Jay is barking like a seal.  I suspect he has a few shots in his future.  Or in his backside.  Whatever works best.  I don’t know.  I’m not a doctor.  Or even Batman.

I’m just a tired mom who needs some time off to rest!

Then she had her picture taken with all of the other little Characters.

Then Small Town Primary sent the picture to the Small Town Gazette where it was kindly published in full color.

Again.

Even though I emailed the principal about the no media request.

Now it’s time for a second email.  This time I’ll cc the assistant superintendant.